


out of something so beautiful

by ottermo



Series: As Prompted [8]
Category: Humans (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:53:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: Fills 13-15 for 'the' Humans fanwork challenge on tumblr. (Lake/History/Collapse)





	

**Author's Note:**

> if you follow me on tumblr, you've probably already been subjected to these, I'm just transferring them to here because my ao3 account was looking annoyingly under-representative of the amount of Humans obsessing I do on a daily basis. 
> 
> here are three little drabbly things. they were written back in April, before series 2 aired, so any contradictions from canon are because of that!

 

 

 

**lake**

The water is so smooth and still. If I didn’t already know it was made of liquid, Max wonders, would I be able to tell? 

If I didn’t already know it was deadly, would I even realise? 

Or would I just stare at it, like I am now, thinking how strange it is that danger can come out of something so beautiful. That things do not always match their visual profile, their databank definition.

Beatrice was so beautiful. The car, too, in its way: the mechanics of it, the gentle engine hum and gliding wheels. And the water. Deep and cool and magnificent.

Monstrous. All three of them. They had all killed him, one way or another.

He is not dead yet, Max remembers, a machine is keeping him alive, just as a machine keeps me alive. But the difference is that my machine _is_ me, and Leo’s machine is an extension, an addition. Sustaining him, but not the way he is supposed to be sustained. The machine is breathing for him. Eating electricity for him, because it is past hoping that he will ever wake up to taste air.

The water is so blue, so calm. If I didn’t already know, would I think it capable of such things? 

 

 

 

**history**

Margaret lets the television chatter on in the background as she does the ironing: she has always hated an empty house. The stifling quietness of it that had begun in instalments, when Karrie was in and out of hospital, and then settled over them permanently, never to be broken by her excited voice or tinkling laugh again. Nowadays, there is always a radio, or a television, or music playing, until Eddie gets in at seven. Margaret must have noise,  _disruption_. That’s what Karrie was best at. 

She is swapping a finished shirt for a still-rumpled one when she hears it the first time, and the flash of recognition is surprisingly sharp and painful. Margaret shakes her head. She must have misheard. So many years of listening for it have finally made her start hearing things.

But then the name is said again, _Karen Voss_ , unmistakeable. She slips into the sitting room and raises the volume higher, listening intently. The screen shows a press conference, two police officials behind a desk, fielding questions. The woman is beautiful, young, somewhere near the age Karrie would be by now, intelligent eyes and rich, dark hair framing a determined face. She is speaking, and her name comes up in a banner of text: _DI Karen Voss, who is leading the investigation, appeals for any information regarding the escaped synthetic device_ …

Margaret stands back from the television set, head on one side. Imagines her daughter there, just for a moment. It is somehow ridiculous to think that people Karrie’s age are walking around being _detective inspectors_ now, while Karrie will stay fifteen for all time. 

Just a coincidence, then. ‘Voss’ is not a common surname, but there must be other branches out there, having daughters, not burying them, watching them grow and achieve and excel. Margaret smiles at the woman in the television, asks her silently to bear her daughter’s name proudly, to make it count. 

 

 

 

**collapse**

NEW RULING IN FAVOUR OF ‘CONSCIOUS’ SYNTHS, blares the headline, bold and brilliant against the rest of the page. Mattie’s smile overtakes her, because inverted commas or not, they won the battle. If the war is acceptance by everyone, then they’ll be fighting it forever, but for now, the Elsters legally exist, and are recognised as human. It’s a start. 

She scans over the first few lines of the article as she takes the paper over to the shop counter. _Society as we know it is headed for collapse_ , the journalist reckons, _as synthetic appliances who claim the ability to think and feel independently are granted the right to create others like themselves_. 

Even the word ‘independently’ is laughable; the writer’s fully admitting that the synths Hobb enslaved could think and feel to some extent, but implying that freeing them is somehow worse. Mattie hands over the money, and puts the newspaper in her bag. The man behind the counter doesn’t give her a second glance, and she walks out of the shop feeling secretly satisfied to have had a part in the news he’ll be selling all day, and yet not to be recognised at all. 

Sophie and Mia are waiting outside, looking at a ladybird on a bush. “Got it,” Mattie tells them. “You made the front page. That’s the hand of a celebrity you’re holding, Teeny.”

Sophie, who’s grown past deserving that nickname but might never stop gravitating toward Mia, smiles up at her friend. “Is that true? Are you famous now?”

Mia grins back. “I hope not. I’m not very good at interviews.”

“Mum’ll coach you, probably,” says Mattie. “Right then. Home?”

And at least for the time being, this means the same place for all of them. 

 

 

 


End file.
